Tucked Away
by AgentMandark
Summary: AU. After being recruited into the Bureau of Paranormal Activity, Tucker Foley expected action and adventure, fights and escapes. Never would he imagine being a certain ghost's babysitter...much less one who hates his guts. Loosely based off of Hellboy.


**A/N: Instead of finishing a short story that I've been working on really hard on for two years, I'm taking out my writer's block aggression by attempting to fix up old stories and post them :P. Talk about procrastination…**

**I wrote this years ago…and randomly decided to post this today. Maybe I'll continue it, maybe I won't. I'm not really sure where I was going with it, but I always thought it would make an interesting story!**

**Sorry if it's not that great. It's been years since I've written something decent. Feel free to leave criticism and feedback. Lord knows I could use some help xD.**

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. Butch Hartman owns Danny Phantom, not me *cue sobbing*.**

* * *

The one thing I could remember about the most life-changing day of my life was how cold it had been.

So used to the warm, humid days of Los Angeles, California, I hadn't at all been prepared for the biting-cold temperature of Amity Park, Illinois. Where I had come from, it was almost paradise. People everywhere—_hot girls _everywhere—underage drinking, lots of parties, celebrities, beautiful weather, beaches: the perfect place for an outgoing (and, okay, maybe _a little_ perverted) guy like me, Tucker Foley.

Granted, I'm more of a techno-geek and, being such, never really got _invited _to said parties nor asked out by said girls—but considering I could pretty much hack or forge anything, I got away with crashing a lot of events and getting in on the action anyway.

And then, somehow, I ended up here. In Amity Park. Where it's cold. And deserted. And extremely creepy to the point where I felt like I was partaking in a horror film.

As I trudged up the long, rocky driveway headed toward the B.P.A. building, my eyes couldn't help but re-read the letter of acceptance in my hand. The letter that promised me acknowledgement of my gifts and talent; a letter that would grant me exciting adventures and constant anxiety over the unknown; a letter that, ultimately, would change my life forever.

A letter of acceptance from the Bureau of Paranormal Activity.

I remembered first hearing about the organization years ago in middle school when it had just been established. Everyone across the globe gossiped about it, sharing theories of what occurred behind its tightly sealed doors and why the government refused to share any info with the public. Some hypothesized about aliens or monsters; others simply gave up and dismissed it as some sort of science lab.

As for me…well, I didn't really know what to believe. I figured I would find out soon enough.

I had originally applied due to my friend, Valerie, constantly pestering me about joining it—saying, "It'd be so cool! Just imagine all the secrets you'll learn" or "Come on, you could totally become their main hacker!" Eventually I gave in—half because Valerie wouldn't shut up, and half because of my accursed curiosity.

Well…and maybe because I was in desperate need of a job and it had been the only opportunity to actually put my hacking skills to some use, but otherwise…

The looming building became slightly clearer in my line of vision, and I couldn't help but gulp when my eyes captured a more detailed appearance of it. Its structure was similar to a research laboratory, albeit twenty times larger and instead of the usual white, everything was made of black cement. Security was tight: I must have been half a mile away, but I already noticed several cameras, lasers, shockers, and the like. Not to mention high wrought iron gates—the kind you normally envisioned in front of the stereotypical haunted house.

"How welcoming," I muttered, scrutinizing what must have been hundreds of guards and dogs surrounding the perimeter. I couldn't decide which factor crept me out more: the guards, the dogs, or the high-tech guns (that not even I, a technology wizard, could classify).

Not that I was scared of anything! Pfft, no, not me! Tucker Foley ain't scared of nothing!

Except for death. Maybe. And perhaps also big, muscular men with guns that look like they want to shoot me dead, but that's beside the point.

I was soon within a thirty foot radius of the guards. They must have expected my arrival, for one guard called out, "State your name, identify where you're from, why you're here, and hand over the letter!"

_Me-ow. Someone's demanding…_

Forcing myself to look confidently at him, I stated evenly, "Tucker Foley. Age 19. A resident of Los Angeles, USA. Am here for, and I quote from message, 'various and unusual job opportunities only available with one containing skills such as mine'." I then held the letter above my head as evidence.

The man nodded. "Very good. Please advance forward and present me the letter."

I attempted hiding my anxiety (which must have been a total failure seeing as I caught some guards smirking at me) while approaching the burly man. I handed him the parchment and waited patiently as he scanned it for a few minutes, and then handed it back to me. "Excellent. But we're not done with you yet, Foley. There's one more procedure we need to carry out."

"Let me guess," I sighed, "I.D.? License? Drug test? Look, I have it, okay? I'm not some terrorist—"

"Brace yourself, Foley," another guard commanded.

When a serious, stern-looking man tells you to "brace yourself", it's probably a good idea to listen to said man and take him seriously.

A lesson which I would be learning very shortly.

I furrowed my eyebrow. "Hey, were you guys even listen—"

The sensation of cold numbness had spread all over my body so rapidly I didn't even have time to question or wonder what the hell was going on. I couldn't tell if I was conscious or unconscious, standing or sitting, happy or sad, alive or dead. The nausea was dizzying enough-focusing on reality was too much of a challenge. Later on, I would ask about how long it took, and people would tell me it only took a minute. However, at that moment, time didn't exist. I was just _there_, existing, incapable of forming coherent thought.

Suddenly—

"_He's safe. He may enter_."

A chill rippled down my spine at hearing those words. It wasn't the words themselves that chilled me—it was the voice uttering them. If I thought about it hard enough, I could almost hear a sort of echo to it…

"Congratulations, Tucker Foley, you have been granted admission. Please proceed straight ahead. Once inside, you will be escorted to your dormitory from one of the guides. Mr. Stevenson asks that you wait patiently until he arrives to guide you."

I was tempted to run away, screaming madly. Despite that the agonizing feeling was gone, something was off. I couldn't decipher what it was; all I knew was that whatever had just happened…was _not_ normal. No machine or living organism could do something like that. Not even close.

"Mr. Foley?"

"Sir," my voice croaked weakly, "may I ask what the _hell_ just happened to me?"

Surprisingly, the guard smiled sadly back at me. "Everyone goes through it, don't worry. It's only a safety precaution…we can't risk enlisting traitors. You don't know it yet, Foley, but it's extremely vital that this organization remains hidden from the wrong people."

I ignored the fact that he hadn't answered my question and, too physically exhausted to argue or bombard him with questions, nodded weakly.

"Open the gates!" he ordered into the walkie-talkie. "Tucker Foley is entering the premises! I repeat, Tucker Foley is entering the premises!"

Once the gates were open and the security disabled, I walked towards the entrance in a daze, not at all prepared for what I would meet on the other side.


End file.
